


'Cause my baby's sweet as can be

by destielpasta



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e05 A Life in the Day, Hand porn, Hurt/Comfort, In a way, Kissing, M/M, Making Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 07:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18205082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielpasta/pseuds/destielpasta
Summary: Loving each other is work. Sometimes they just want it to be easy.Takes place during the events of 3x05: A Life in the Day, after Quentin and Eliot fight about the progress of the mosaic.





	'Cause my baby's sweet as can be

It was work.

Quentin’s hands were dry and cracked, reaching for another tile. Red–  no, green. Yes. He picked it up and fit it in the next space, next to the blue, except… that couldn’t be right. He scratched his fingernails against the dusty surface.

_ If you want to live your life, live it here _ .

“Q?”

Eliot called for him as he exited the cottage, holding a brown jar in one hand and a towel in the other. His homespun pants pulled slightly at the thigh when he settled down, one leg folded under the other, onto the half-finished mosaic.

“Give me your hand,” he said, unscrewing the lid and then holding out one of his own, palm up. 

Quentin shook his head. “I should finish this. Then we can check off this design when it doesn’t work.”

Eliot smiled, his eyes crinkling slightly. “There’s that optimism I love. I thought you were all about kicking tiles now.”

Quentin bit his lip.  _ Love.  _ What was he supposed to do with that?

Eliot shakes his hand in the air, insistent. 

“Take a break.”

Quentin sighs. “Eliot, I–”

Eliot made a little noise in the back of his throat. Uh-uh. Not right now. 

Quentin surrendered his hand. 

Eliot dipped his fingers into the jar and took his hand, massaging the salve into the cracked and dry skin. They had bought it from a woman in the village who specialized in home remedies. _Nothing magical, just common sense and a bit of herb knowledge_ , she had said. Eliot had bought a couple things, saying he liked how the light caught the different colored bottles when set on the windowsills. 

Quentin watched, relaxing as Eliot worked. He ran his fingers over the grooves of the knuckles, traced the lines on the palm. He pressed his thumb against the space between his thumb and forefinger, sending sensation all the way down to Quentin’s abdomen. Quentin inhaled through his teeth. 

“Sorry.” Eliot looked up through his eyelashes. “Does it hurt?”

Quentin shook his head. “No. It feels good.”

In response, Eliot wove their fingers together like the threads of a loom and pulled, releasing the tension locked in his joints. Quentin sighed. His head was full of the scent of ginger and eucalyptus. It wasn’t fair. 

“Eliot,” he started. “We should talk about this.”

Eliot reached for his other hand, beginning the process over again. 

“So talk.”

Quentin choked back a groan as Eliot dug his thumb into the middle of his palm, sending sensation tingling down his arm. 

“We fought,” he said lamely. “We should talk about why we were fighting.”

“Ok.”

Eliot’s lips replaced his hands, kissing the inside of Quentin’s wrist. He scooted closer, leg over leg, running his open mouth over Quentin’s arm. He dropped his head back, breathing. Eliot mouthed at his shoulder, pulling Quentin’s collar aside for better access, grazing his neck with the sharp points of his teeth.

Salve be damned, Quentin sunk his fingers into Eliot’s hair and tilted his head back, kissing him square on the mouth, hot and indulgent like the Fillorian summer heat surrounding them. Eliot groaned against his lips, hooking his leg around Quentin’s hip, shifting almost onto his lap.

Eliot pulled back, stroking a hand down Quentin’s chest, over his hips, close to where Quentin ached for him. 

“Do you still want to talk?” He whispered. 

Quentin froze, staring.  _ Yes _ , he wanted to say,  _ but you don’t. _

He very much wanted to kiss Eliot, that wasn’t a chore. He laid him back against today’s unfinished mosaic, held one hand above his head and laced their fingers together again. Eliot relaxed as soon as Quentin was over him, smiling widely as if he had won. 

He had. 

“Q…” he breathed, nuzzling against Quentin’s neck, his lips just barely touching him. 

Quentin bit his lip.

Later. They would talk later. 

**Author's Note:**

> Can't ever have enough 3x05 fics amirite? Thank you for reading, Comments are love!


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